


Kintsugi

by flyingllamas



Series: Tales from a lifetime ago (and ones to never be) [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Attempted assassinations on children, Halduron is sick of the adults' shit, Kael and Aethas would just like to be left alone, M/M, Rommath might be coming around finally, and Lor'themar is just trying to take care of everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingllamas/pseuds/flyingllamas
Summary: There's something to be said for persistence after shattering.Or, misunderstandings are cleared up and Rommath takes a dagger to the gut.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely beta'd by Kangoo and Hunterx700.
> 
> Somewhat written for the theme wabi, or "that flaw which makes an object more beautiful". 
> 
> As always, my tumblr is llamastheflying.tumblr.com if you wanna hit me up with any questions or complaints.

Their silent war waged on the weeks following and to anyone else looking in, it probably seemed that they found a silent truce among themselves. Nothing could be further from the truth, though.

 

Aethas and Kael’thas took to the new tension surrounding their mentors admirably. It was nothing unfamiliar to them; the ebb and flow of relations among the court of Silvermoon took a similar form to what, in comparison, was a small spat between two stubborn men (or, one stubborn mage and a ranger that ought to know better). They never spoke about the other to their current minder and other than exasperated looks from Kael’thas towards them when he thought Rommath wasn’t looking, nothing was said.

 

Halduron did not seem to understand the situation at hand, but Rommath did not expect that of him. He was, technically, not one of Rommath’s charges and therefore not of his concern. The first day after the blow up in the hallway, his eyes traced the strained interactions between ranger and arcanist and were alight with questions. The second day, the questioning light had been extinguished. One of the other boys likely took it upon himself to advise their friend to stay out of it.

 

Rommath refused to broker questions from Lor’themar outside of his usual status reports. The moment any of his speech turned personal, Rommath disappeared through a portal before more than five words could leave his mouth. Neither still did he allow himself to be caught unawares by the ranger; he kept to infuriatingly public places, sacrificing his peace of mind for the safety that came from the social shield afforded to him by such places.

 

On sleepless nights (and they were many), he occasionally let himself ponder the sorrow in Lor’themar’s gaze when he would meet the arcanist’s glare upon entering the training yard, the continued attempts of the ranger to (presumably) make peace with him. Still, Rommath’s pride would not allow him to allow the ranger to make amends. Fooled too many times by those wishing to drag his heritage through the dirt of his family’s fields, Rommath’s will steeled against his aching heart. 

 

Because no matter what he told himself as he rolled restlessly between too-warm sheets, his heart did ache. Friendship did not come easily to Rommath in the first place. After being tricked too many times by bullies dangling the promise of companionship in front of his young self and by the incident that lead to the burn scars on his throat (his fault, admittedly), Rommath was slow to trust and even slower to allow the easy happiness that came with friendship. 

 

Even harder for him was attraction. Rommath knew himself well and he was far from stupid; any and all romantic and sexual attraction he had experienced in his life was  _ always _ first preceded by friendship of some kind for him. 

 

Admittedly with friends being so few and far in between, attraction was a rare thing for him. But he knew this ache in his heart well, the ache of a lost friend and the sorrow of an attraction unwisely fostered, even reluctantly, for too long. Nothing would change, he told himself, for nothing was lost. Lor’themar likely had not returned his feelings of friendship, much less those of attraction; in the end, it was all a ploy to humiliate him.

 

It was on one of those sleepless nights when his repetitive thoughts gnawed at his patience and sanity that Aethas quietly slipped into his room. Sighing, Rommath threw out a small flame from his fingertips to light the tall candle by his bed. Aethas stared at him mournfully from where he stood in the still open door, hesitating in approaching Rommath despite the fact that they’d done this many times before. 

 

“Come on, then,” he said. 

 

Aethas shut the door and darted to Rommath’s bed, nearly tripping on the too-long night shirt he wore. Rommath allowed Aethas to crawl into his arms and sob. 

 

While it was not unusual for elven children to share beds with their parents or protectors, even when not haunted by nightmares, Aethas had lost that security with the death of his parents. The boy was too intimidated by his uncle to consider asking to join Kael’thas at his side. 

 

After many days of seeing the child listless and exhausted from nightmares in his lessons upon his arrival in Silvermoon, Rommath told the child to come find him after nightmares. If he was honest with himself (and he rarely was), he missed the companionship of his younger siblings. It was not the way of most elves, at least, to sleep alone. The court of Silvermoon was an oddity in the loneliness its nights provided, save those between lovers.

 

Some nights it was nightmares, others just for comfort and peace of mind, but by his sobs on this night Rommath knew it to be the former. He sighed and cradled Aethas, carefully smoothing out tangles in his hair. By the time he twisted the child’s hair into a neat plait, Aethas’ breathing had smoothed back out. He did not have time to settle himself back in before his door opened once more.

 

“Light’s sake...Come here, Kael.” 

 

The young prince clambered into his too small bed from the side opposite of Aethas. The redness of his eyes told Rommath that nightmares seemed to be ruling this night. Anasterian was gone on a visit across the kingdom and his absence obviously unsettled the two boys. He could not blame them. Anasterian’s presence filled the palace to the brim and without it, the winding hallways seemed oddly empty.

 

As the children curled into each of his sides, he summoned a tome from across the room. Sleep would probably not find him easily this night either. He found himself thankful for his insomnia when he heard a small sound outside of his window. A lesser elf might have mistook it for a branch scraping against the outside wall of the palace, but Rommath was no lesser elf. 

 

In the time that it took him to summon his bladed buugengs, a body crashed through his window. He hastily raised his blade to block one sailing towards Kael’thas’ small form and dove from the bed to clash with the would-be assassin. The attacker was not alone; another form sailed in through the window and Rommath found himself blocking two sets of daggers with his now-flaming buugengs.

 

It was not easy, but thankfully Kael’thas and Aethas had awoken quickly and positioned themselves in one corner of the room. Kael’thas summoned a shimmering, unsteady arcane barrier surrounding himself and his cousin and it came not a moment too late; one of the assassins launched a knife towards the boys and it lodged in the barrier. 

 

Kael’thas was  _ not  _ supposed to be able to cast spells of that level yet but as it was, the prince was somewhat of a prodigy. As it was, Rommath knew he would not be able to sustain it much longer and the assassins seemed to guess as much. Two more knives had the barrier melting away, leaving a shaking and mana starved Kael’thas. One of the assassins took the chance, then, to lunge forward with a new blade and Rommath threw himself in front of it.

 

He knew immediately that there was something wrong with the blade and why the assassin had chosen to use it. The mana in him seemed to leak out alongside his blood from where the knife lodged in his stomach and the flames surrounding his blades quickly died. He sank to one knee, helplessly, as both assassins approached him and the boys behind him. He hoped beyond all hopes that they would at least kill the children quickly.

 

He was saved from seeing his charges slain before him when the door to his room crashed open once more. He found himself blithely thinking, as he watched the new intruder crash into one assassin and swing their sword at the other so that it lodged into the side of their neck, that if his door were to open one more time that night, that surely Queen Azshara herself would waltz into his bedroom. 

 

Their savior quickly pinned the other assassin beneath their weight and stabbed a small blade into the side of the other elf. The assassin went limp, presumably succumbing to whatever poison was on the blade. Likely, they would later be questioned to try to gain knowledge of whoever paid a blood price for the prince’s head. 

 

Rommath nodded his thanks to the elf, a Farstrider if the insignia on his tabard was anything to go by, as the boys latched themselves to his side once more, heedless of the blood that stained their small hands. It was hard to determine much other about the elf; their head was shrouded in such a way that Rommath could only see their glowing eyes. 

 

Queen Azshara was not the next to walk into his room, but it was a near thing in retrospect. Ranger General Sylvanas strolled into his rather small (and rather wrecked, at this point) room and peered around.

 

“You are dismissed,” she told the ranger, who had bowed at her entrance. “Keep your exit discreet and let no one see you, or I’ll know why.”

 

With another bow, the ranger let himself out of the room through the window. 

 

“I suppose that could be construed as discreet,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Rommath gave Sylvanas a disbelieving look as he clutched his stomach, feeling as though his organs would stream out between his fingers if he let go. She only treated him with an appraising glance.

 

“Mana tapped knife?” she asked. Rommath nodded. “Of course they would, with a mageling prince. Don’t take to heart what might have happened if my ranger had not come when he did; had I taken that knife to my gut, I would have been incapacitated as well. Now, get yourself to the infirmary before you bleed out.”

 

“What’s...going on?” he gasped out finally and tried not to pitch forward onto the floor.

 

“You’ll be briefed on it later,” she said. “The children will be fine with me. I’ll find an appropriate minder for them if I have to drag Vareesa back from Dalaran tonight myself. Now go, I don’t want to have to clean up more bodies than necessary before the night’s over.”

 

Rommath carefully pried the children’s fingers from his robes and kissed each of them on the forehead, extracting promises that they would behave for the Ranger General. He accidentally left streaks of red on Kael’thas’ golden hair as he stroked the prince’s head to reassure him and stumbled out of the room as more rangers streamed in to aid their General. 

 

It was slow going to the infirmary. Rommath let himself lean against the cool walls of the hallways, no doubt leaving a streak of blood behind him as he went. That could be someone else’s problem, he thought wryly. Right then and there, he was just trying to stay conscious long enough to get aid.

 

He startled violently when, upon turning around a corner, arms suddenly wrapped around his waist from behind. He thrashed against the grip weakly and bared his fangs.

 

“Shh, Rommath,” Lor’themar whispered into his ear. “It’s only me.”

 

Rommath wearily let the ranger spin him around and sling his arm about his shoulders. 

 

“Let’s get going now, shall we?” They stepped forward together down the dark hallway and with Lor’themar’s aid, they were making faster progress than Rommath would on his own.. Lor’themar’s body felt warm against his own, but that was probably his blood loss making him cold.

 

“Why are you here?” asked Rommath, in a hoarse whisper.

 

“Well, for one, someone needs to make sure you get to the infirmary,” Lor’themar said with a chuckle. “It shows how truly injured you are, my friend, to be asking that question. You’re usually so perceptive. Take a look at my clothing once more and if you need to ask again, I will tell you.”

 

Wearily, Rommath looked out of the corner of his eye towards Lor’themar. What he wore was strange for the man, who preferred heavy plate and the heft of his sword to the usual light armor that the Rangers regularly wore. It was darkly dyed cloth, meant for slipping around in the cover of night undetected. About his neck was the hood and scarf that covered his face and he still wore the tabard of the Farstriders, the same as when he had burst into the room to save the three of them.

 

Rommath shook his head and huffed out a laugh that made the pain in his stomach spike.

 

“Truly, I wonder what sort of trauma your head has met with recently to think leaving through the window was discreet,” said Rommath. They finally rounded the last corner to the infirmary. A healer Rommath was familiar with waited for them outside its entrance with bags under his eyes and a steaming cup in his hand.

 

“I can at least ensure no one saw my retreat,” Lor’themar replied, guiding Rommath to the nearest bed. It was more dragging than guiding at this point, not that Rommath would admit to it.

 

Their banter ceased as the healer unceremoniously sliced through the light shirt Rommath wore to bed and divested him from it. The healer placed hand on the hilt of the blade and counted down before yanking it out. A cry loosed itself from Rommath’s throat as he did so and Lor’themar reached over to squeeze his hand. Rommath returned the gesture with a grip of his own that surely had the small bones of Lor’themar’s hand creaking. 

 

Rommath managed to keep any further sounds locked down behind clenched teeth as the healer cleaned and packed his wound. Still, Lor’themar held his hand in own, occasionally stroking the back of his hand with his thumb when he felt Rommath tense from pain. The ranger’s gaze strayed from the tattoos on his chest to his neck and Rommath realized that the glamour had dropped with the absence of his mana. He pointedly tried to ignore the ranger’s gaze, but it remained. The healer finished cinching the bandages about Rommath’s waist and stepped back.

 

“There’s not much I can do about the residual exhaustion from the mana tap,” said the healer, “unless you would enjoy a hangover with twice the recovery period within the day. My suggestion is just to take it easy for a while, until your mana is fully recovered. With a tap like that, my estimate is you’ll be up and going within three or so days. Need anything else?”

 

Lor’themar’s gaze still fixed on the scars about Rommath’s neck and he made to question the healer. Rommath stopped him with a shake of his head and a swift squeeze of the hand holding Lor’themar’s own. Not that the healer would have humored his question; he was intimately familiar with Rommath’s scars and treating them as he aged.

 

“No, thank you,” Rommath said. The healer grumbled something about going back to bed and left the two men to their own devices within the dim light of the infirmary. Rommath withdrew his hand from Lor’themar’s grip. “I should kick you out now.”

 

The ranger’s ears pinned back against his head with shame.

 

“I wish that you wouldn’t,” said Lor’themar, his voice low, “but I would not fault you if you did.” 

 

“Then give me one good reason why I should not and I will consider allowing you to stay,” Rommath spat.

 

“I did not know,” Lor’themar said and stopped. He shook his head and sighed, before starting again. “I did not know your history with the nobility here, nor did I know about your family. I said what I did with the utmost sincerity, Rommath, not with the mockery that you thought I did.”

 

“I’m...still not sure if I believe you,” said Rommath after a long moment. “Too many times this has happened. You are not the first to appeal to me like this. I will not have a game made of me.”

 

Lor’themar gently took hold of his hands in his own and Rommath cursed the soft spot in his heart that let him.

 

“Then don’t believe me,” he said. “But tell me this: did any of those fools stay by your side, even as a friend, after you rejected them so?”

 

“The real fool is me, for being tricked so many times,” Rommath grumbled. He let his head fall back against the headboard as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion set in.

 

“The only fools are the ones who let you go instead of treasuring your presence,” Lor’themar insisted. “Answer me, Rommath: did any stay by your side?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I intend to be the first,” the ranger said. “Even if friendship is all that you can offer me.”

 

“You say that assuming that I will allow you to do so.”

 

“I think you will find me to quite persistent, if you haven’t already.”

 

“You are,” Rommat admitted. “Like a small, blood-sucking gnat.”

 

Lor’themar laughed then.

 

“The sharpness of your tongue has not been dulled by a knife in your gut, I see,” Lor’themar commented. He watched Rommath struggle to pull the sheets over his legs and after a moment, leaned over him to help. He did not settle back into his chair as expected and instead settled on the edge of the bed.

 

“The day it dulls will be the day I die,” Rommath snapped back, though with no real fire. The part of his heart that had ached for the weeks past sang with Lor’themar’s presence and he was too tired to squash it back down. “Are you ever going to explain what happened tonight?”

 

Lor’themar’s fingers bunched up the sheets as he spoke, “There have been whispers, recently, of a family in the south gathering its allies to its side. It is not the first time the Sunstrider dynasty has been threatened, and it will not be the last.”

 

“And what does a lowly captain have to do with all of this?” asked Rommath. “You seem hardly in the position to be a player in the games of kings and insurgencies.”

 

“It is for that reason  _ exactly _ that I am in that position,” Lor’themar said. “I would have been promoted from my position long ago, even being the most junior of my stature, had Sylvanas had not found use for me here. Who would suspect a captain to be Sylvanas’ own eyes and ears?”

 

“Clever, I suppose,” said Rommath. “I suppose that explains why she wanted no one to see you.”

  
  


“I fear I have something else to confess about all of this,” Lor’themar said. “I intended to tell you before now but...well, I obviously could not. The boys will be more disappointed than you, I imagine.”

 

“You’re leaving,” Rommath guessed. He ripped his eyes from the ranger’s steady gaze as his heart clenched as it protested the thought of Lor’themar being ripped away from his side so soon. Only then did he notice the dark stains from the assassin’s blood on Lor’themar’s already dark clothing by the light of the flickering lamps in the infirmary. The man must have only divested himself of any nonessentials before coming to his aid.

 

“Yes.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“I do not know,” said Lor’themar and he sighed. His hair was starting to escape from its tie, falling around his face to frame it with cornsilk waves. He looked near as tired as Rommath did, with the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “For however long it takes me to uncover solid evidence of treachery against the crown. Or until they kill me, upon discovering our plans. I leave in two days.”

 

Rommath said nothing but he did not need to. Lor’themar reached out and took his hand once more.

 

“I will try my best to return to you and the boys in one piece,” he said solemnly.

 

“Do strive for that,” said Rommath finally, “for I cannot be accountable for the actions of a prodigy prince if he ever discovers that you perished. I would not put it past him to dabble into necromancy to bring you back, if it meant he could continue to miss lessons because of you.”

 

“On the contrary, I think that would be exactly what you are held accountable for.”

 

“I think Anasterian would excuse my shortcomings in this once case,” said Rommath primly, “even if it was for such a lecherous, lowly ranger as yourself.  _ Especially _ in your case.”

 

Lor’themar shook his head and laughed and even Rommath could not hold back a small smile.

 

“I will miss your wit, Rommath,” he said with a grin. “I must admit that I will be lonely in the south without you and the young ones to keep me company. I am not familiar with the lands there and know nearly no one.”

 

“Loneliness?” Rommath huffed out a laugh. “I doubt that it will be much trouble for you to find someone to stay by your side while you are there, and to warm your bed.”

 

“It will be, if I do not go looking.” Lor’themar’s other hand caught his chin gently and tilted it so that Rommath met his gaze once more. “And I will not.”

 

Rommath resisted the urge to look away, to shake off Lor’themar’s touch.

 

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I cannot give you what you desire now, nor promise it to you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then why do this?”

 

“Because it would hurt you more if I did not wait, if you decided that you could feel as I do, than if I did. I have hurt you enough already; this will not be another wound between us.”

 

Rommath sighed and finally pulled free from Lor’themar’s grip. “You are a fool.”

 

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted, “but I would rather that than hurt you once more. I do have a favor to ask of you, though, before I leave you for the night. Will you write to me?”

 

“I suppose,” said Rommath. “I’ll see if I can’t give you some form of entertainment that your meager intelligence can grasp onto. I fear for if someone were to intercept your letters, though. I will have something that will help with that, so come and find me before you leave.”

 

“I cannot imagine what, in your writings, would need to be hidden.”

 

“Perhaps we mages are a more secretive order than you rangers, who wear your hearts upon your sleeve,” said Rommath. “Perhaps I wish to spare someone else’s eyes from your lecherous inner thoughts.”

 

“That would depend if the contents of your letters matched mine,” Lor’themar teased. “And some of us need to wear our hearts for all to see. How else would handsome mages know if they were being courted?”

 

Rommath rolled his eyes. His exhaustion was starting to drag him under and Lor’themar seemed to realize it. The ranger reached up to extinguish the lamps above the bed. 

 

“Sleep, friend,” he murmured. “I will check on you before I leave.”

 

His knuckles lightly stroked down the side of Rommath’s face. The mage was asleep before he left the room.

 

* * *

  
  


The children were decidedly  _ not _ happy about Lor’themar’s departure. While the Farstriders had arranged for another teacher to take over in his stead, it was apparent that they had become rather attached to the captain. No amount of complaining (or angry tears, on Kael’thas’ part) could keep Lor’themar from his ‘reassignment’. 

 

Lor’themar and Rommath did not speak beyond greetings at the boys’ last training session until Rommath came to pick them up. Even then, Lor’themar only whispered a promise of visiting Rommath later that evening. 

 

When the boys had been whisked away by their other tutors once more, Rommath returned to his blessedly clean quarters after scavenging bread from the kitchens. The mage hardly kept the habit of eating proper meals, for it took time to sit and make pleasantries that could otherwise be spent studying and practicing, but even he needed to eat once his stomach started to complain at him. His still healing wound did not slake his appetite in the slightest. If anything, it made him hungrier than usual.

 

He was not surprised to see Lor’themar already waiting for him in his room, an open window announcing how the ranger let himself in. 

 

“I see you are still incapable of using a door,” Rommath snapped as he locked the door behind him. Still, Lor’themar only grinned at him as the mage began to dig through his desk. “Perhaps your sojourn in the south will teach you some manners.”

 

“What if I return wilder than I am now?” Lor’themar casually strolled over to him. He was perhaps  _ too _ close but Rommath let him be. The was likely the last he would see of the ranger in some time, and the other man knew it.

 

“Then I’ll have to chain you up outside like the cur you are.”

 

Lor’themar leaned over him to chuckle in his ear, a low sound that had fire rushing through Rommath’s veins in a not entirely unpleasant way.

 

“Careful, I might like that,” the ranger crooned.

 

Rommath twisted around and shoved the object he’d retrieved from his desk into Lor’themar’s chest, making the ranger back up slightly. The ranger took it from him and cradled it in his hands.

 

“Keep it on you at all times,” Rommath instructed as Lor’themar laced the leather strings through his fingers and held the object up to the sunlight streaming through his window. Dormant fire flickered within the spellglass pendant hanging from the strings as the light hit it. “As long as it’s nearby, you’ll be able to read whatever I send you. It will also encrypt whatever you write while wearing it.” 

 

“And if I’m not?”

 

Rommath’s lips twisted into a smirk.

 

“Well, perhaps you’ll learn something from reading my first year essays on the different schools of magic.”

 

Lor’themar laughed brightly and held out the pendant to Rommath. “Put it on for me?”

 

The mage sighed, but stepped forward to tie the strings about the ranger’s neck and freed his hair captured underneath it. Before he could retreat, Lor’themar caught his elbows and kept him near.

 

“Promise me you’ll actually write,” said the ranger, “and not just send me your treatises out of spite.”

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Rommath bit back. “I gave you that spellglass for a reason, you fool.”

 

Lor’themar smiled, sadly. “Even for your prickly nature, I will miss you. No one else speaks to me as honestly as you do.”

 

Rommath huffed out a sigh and leaned forward to let his forehead rest against Lor’themar’s own. This at least he could do, he thought as he let his eyes slide closed. Lor’themar’s breath stuttered slightly and the ranger’s grip moved from from his elbows to his waist. Rommath’s hands rested lightly on Lor’themar’s chest.

 

“Annoying and infuriating as you are, I will miss you as well. Don’t die.”

 

“I will try my best not to,” said Lor’themar. He reluctantly stepped back from Rommath, his touch lingering about his waist. “Goodbye, Rommath.”

 

With a final look back to Rommath, the ranger vaulted himself out the window, leaving Rommath to lean back heavily against the desk as his heart cried out in despair.


End file.
